


khakis & sunglasses

by serenityandtea



Series: Various Marvel One-Shots [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (but not really), Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson is So Done, The Avengers Are Good Bros, matching clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityandtea/pseuds/serenityandtea
Summary: Sam starts to notice him and Steve are sort of, maybe, wearing the same things, and the Avengers are all assholes.It’s not until Steve walks out that Sam realizes they’re wearing the exact same shirt, and even worse, they might even be wearing the same size. The fabric stretched along Steve’s back is basically taunting him. He decides to not read too much into it, because anyone can pick up a shirt at Gap, even Captain America.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: Various Marvel One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047823
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	khakis & sunglasses

**Author's Note:**

> Idek what this is. Call this result of a good prompt and a pairing that couldn't make the prompt work. We all know that it doesn't work, because we _all_ know who has the superior sense of style here (hello, FATWS set pictures of Anthony in that COAT, you know the one I'm talking about) and Steve Rogers isn't touching that with a ten foot pole. Anyway, my NaNo-challenge wouldn't be a challenge if it didn't have... challenges, so this pairing+prompt was definitely one of them!
> 
> This is set in sort of canon, as in, CA:WS does happen, and then Bucky gets to the tower, and they all live happily ever after in friendship and we forget Civil War ever happened, the end.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters or the brands mentioned in this.

The first time Sam meets Steve Rogers he’s on his second (and last) lap around the Washington Mall and sorely regretting his decision to wear a sweater today. Sure, it was cold and dark when he left an hour ago, but by the time he’s passing the Thomas Jefferson memorial, he can feel the sweat dripping down his back. That he’s pushing himself even harder today has nothing to do with the fact that some asshole keeps lapping him like he isn’t running sixteen miles an hour. So, when that same asshole comes around asking if he needs a medic and turns out to be Steve Rogers, Sam keeps his chill. He decisively does _not_ freak out when he realizes he’s wearing the same shirt as Captain America.

Not that it’s obvious, since he is, you know, wearing it underneath his sweater, but still. _Captain America._

Of course, his not-so-subtle flirting goes right over the dude’s head, but that’s fine. Sam’s kinda proud of himself for not letting the ‘do you want to see if you sleep better in my bed’ slip past his lips in any case.

He’ll just daydream about it a bit for the next, oh, I don’t know, seven months.

Then Steve drives off with the most gorgeous redhead Sam’s ever seen in his life, and twenty minutes later he finds himself standing in front of the mirror, frowning when he recalls the grey Under Armour shirt looking a lot better stretched out over Steve Rogers’ pecs.

He needs to focus less on leg days and more on lifting heavy shit.

*

The second time Sam bumps into Steve Rogers, it’s a lot less light-hearted. He never imagined the other man would actually show up at the VA, but here he is, and it takes a meagre five minutes before Sam is telling him about Riley. Figures the guy who lost his own best friend during the war knows what he’s going through. However, the depression waves are basically rolling off Steve, so Sam tries to impart him with some advice. Not only because he feels like he needs to, but because the man apparently doesn’t know what makes him happy and that’s just plain sad.

Once you’ve saved the world a couple of times, it should be your goddamn right to have some bright sparks in your life.

It’s not until Steve walks out that Sam realizes they’re wearing the exact same shirt, and even worse, they might even be wearing the same size. The fabric stretched along Steve’s back is basically taunting him. He decides to not read too much into it, because anyone can pick up a shirt at Gap, even Captain America.

*

When Steve comes knocking on his door looking for shelter with the redhead bombshell, Sam really doesn’t have a choice but to let them in. When he forces them down to sit at his table and have some breakfast—because Sam is nothing if not a good host, even when the company is unexpected—Natasha keeps giving him looks over her cup of black coffee. Having the Black Widow stare at him makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he doesn’t say anything. He’d rather not test that rumor about her being able to kill men with her pinkie finger.

(Let’s be honest, Sam would probably thank her if she did.)

It takes him until later that afternoon to notice that Steve’s wearing the same goddamn shirt as he is, and that would explain the looks.

*

They keep matching.

For some inexplicable reason, they keep matching.

The first time Sam meets the Avengers, Steve is wearing the exact same pair of shoes that he is. When they go out for a coffee the morning after a mission—Sam isn’t sure if it’s coffee or _coffee_ —the jacket Steve’s got on is the same as Sam’s, just in a slightly more muted beige color. A morning sparring at the compound finds them wearing the same shorts. When it starts snowing outside, the exact same beanie that his mom sent him perches on Steve’s head.

Sam’s not sure if Steve has even noticed what’s happening; if he’s aware that nine out of ten times, they’re wearing at least something that is either the same color, brand, or just the exact same thing. The thing is, it’s strange. Sam puts pride in his appearance, wants to look good because everyone could do with a little bit more self-care. He likes indulging himself with the latest fashions and a ridiculous number of sneakers. Steve owns khaki pants and the same shirt in four different colors and doesn’t seem to care about whether something is in fashion. So the two of them wearing the same outfit? Practically impossible. It’s not like he purposefully goes out to buy the same things as Steve does—that’s just creepy—and he doubts Steve even knows where to get half of the stuff Sam’s wearing.

Like the Ray-ban sunglasses hanging off Steve’s shirt.

The exact same pair that Sam’s got on.

For a second Sam considers not saying anything, but no matter how flattered he is, it has gone too far.

“Nice shades, man.”

“Thanks,” Steve grins at him, fiddling with his tablet as he slides into the chair across from Sam. “Tony recommended them and I thought they looked swell.”

Clint mouths ‘swell’ with a gleeful look and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Real swell,” Sam deadpans, glaring at Tony, who is conveniently sitting next to Steve. “Especially considering I’ve got the exact same pair. Down to the shade of the frame.”

Tony gasps. “What a coincidence!”

Steve looks between the two of them, with that frown that makes him look like an overgrown puppy and that Sam—unfortunately—still isn’t immune to.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Tony says just as Sam replies, “Tony is a jerk.”

The frown gets even bigger and ugh, a grown-ass man should not be allowed to look that cute, not in front of Sam’s scrambled eggs. They might be sort of, maybe, casually dating now—another tragic, white boy Sam will take home to his mom at some point—but he’ll never spill about what those eyes do to him.

“I don’t understand. Am I missing something?”

Sam sighs, pushing his plate away from him. “Who got you the leather jacket you wore last week?”

“Nat? She said she’d found it at a flea market.”

Fucking spies. “Right. And that red beanie? With the white pom-pom?”

“I don’t— Pepper? Or Bucky, I can’t remember. Why? What’s going on?”

Sam catches Barnes’ eye where he’s standing at the stove, and when not in ‘could kill you at any moment’ mode, the man has a terrible poker face.

He still can’t read Natasha for shit, though.

“Your friends are all assholes,” Sam says, and Tony lets out a squeak in protest. He immediately shuts up when Steve glares at him. “They’ve been trying to make us match.”

“It’s just _so cute_ ,” Clint grins, coffee pot on the table in front of him and his feet right next to it. “Adorable, really.”

“Match how?” Steve asks, confused.

Sam gestures at his sunglasses. “You really haven’t noticed we’ve been wearing the same things for months? C’mon, Steve. Situational awareness. I know Captain America’s got it.”

“Steve Rogers sure as hell doesn’t,” Barnes mumbles and Sam isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that, but Steve for sure did, because he glares at his best friend.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s keep this friendly, boys.”

Bucky glares at Natasha.

“I just don’t understand what’s wrong with it,” Steve grumbles. “Why is it so bad that we own the same things? Buck and me basically wore the same things all the time when we were kids. Hell, we even shared scarves and stuff.”

“That’s because we could only afford the cheap styles and there wasn’t a lot of choice back then, punk,” Barnes replies, turning off the hob and sliding a plate of pancakes onto the table. Within seconds it’s empty.

“These days it’s a thing that solely happens to high school girls at prom who all shop at the same H&M and who all want to bang the same quarterback in his pick-up truck,” Tony says around his fork and then shrugs when Steve frowns at him. “What, it’s true! Not that I went to my prom because ugh, but all the movies say so. Tell him, Legolas.”

Clint stares at him over the rim of his mug. “You think the circus had a prom, man?”

“Brucie, you tell him.”

“Ninety percent of the school hated me. Take a guess.”

Tony groans, waving his fork in the air. “Useless, the bunch of you. Absolutely useless.”

“Well, I like matching with Sam. I like his clothes.” There’s a familiar set to Steve’s shoulders that Sam is starting to recognize as good old-fashioned stubbornness.

“Oh, we know you do,” Clint smirks, his eyebrow wiggling. “You like Sam’s everything. We’ve all heard how much you like his gracefulness in the sky, how he’s made of the tough stuff, how cute that gap between his teeth is, and oh, let’s not forget last week when you waxed poetically about his biceps for ten minutes, because I for one will never be able to forget _that_.”

“I don’t—okay, I do, but it’s Sam, it’s not like—”

Sam stops him before this can get even more embarrassing. For either of them, really.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he says as he stands up, collecting his plate and dumping it in the sink so god knows who can clean it. “I like you too. Even if you drink your iced tea unsweetened and your biceps are smaller than my thighs.”

Barnes snorts and Sam smacks the back of his head as he passes behind him. Why he even lives with these idiots, he doesn’t know.

“C’mon, let’s leave these assholes to their scheming and watch that new Denzel flick.”

“Yeah, that’s—Let’s do that.”

Natasha’s kissing noises follow them all the way to the elevator and Sam sighs as he lets his fingers intertwine with Steve’s.

“Hey,” he says quietly, tugging a little on Steve’s hand to make the man look at him. The blush has spread all the way down Steve’s neck and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever been more—quietly—in love with someone. “You know my only problem is that you weren’t aware they were being assholes, right?”

“Right,” Steve mumbles, and Sam tugs on his hand again so that they’re facing each other. Tony is no doubt stalling the elevator, because it’s taking an abnormally long time to get there.

Sam gently rubs his nose against Steve’s, until he’s coaxed a smile on those pink lips. “I don’t mind, Steve. Gotta give it to you, that leather jacket? Ticks all the boxes, man.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a loud ding as the elevator arrives—the normally very quiet, soundlessly-glides-through-the-building elevator—and Sam rolls his eyes as he hears Clint cackling when Steve jumps at the sound.

“C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

The elevator doors have barely opened on Steve’s floor when Sam finds himself pressed against a wall, Steve’s body caging him in and Steve’s mouth on his neck.

“You know how we won’t match anymore?” Steve mumbles against his skin and Sam shivers in reply. His own hands are gripping the back of Steve’s shirt and he’s trying to take some deep, cleansing breaths because, Jesus Christ, they’re only kissing.

Calm down.

“How?” he gasps out as Steve finds that one spot right behind his ear and flicks his tongue against it, sending signals straight to Sam’s dick.

“If we take it all off.” Steve’s warm hands slide under Sam’s shirt and it’s like little furnaces are tracing their way up and down Sam’s spine.

“Smooth, Rogers,” Sam pants out, trying to show some restraint so he doesn’t immediately start humping Steve’s leg. “Real smooth.”

Steve lets out a low chuckle, leaning away from Sam for a second and Sam immediately complies with the unspoken request, lifting his arms. The second his shirt hits the floor, Steve’s body is pressed against his again, his mouth hovering over Sam’s.

“You know me,” he murmurs. “Smoothest fella on the block.”

Sam’s reply turns into a groan as Steve’s teeth get involved with his lips. Kissing Steve Rogers is unlike any other experience he’s ever had. Steve kisses exactly like he does everything else; with the utmost attention and the stubbornness of someone who has never backed down from a challenge. There’s nothing passive about it, nothing that even hints at the inexperience everyone associates with Captain America. Steve kisses like his partner is the goddamn center of his world and that devotion, that closeness, is what sets Sam’s whole body alight.

“Off,” Sam groans as he tugs at Steve’s shirt. The sunglasses go clattering on the floor and Sam just can’t be bothered to care. Tony can just buy Steve a new pair. It’s the least he can do.

It’s rushed and hot and by the time Steve’s got a hand down the front of Sam’s jeans and the other next to his head, panting in Sam’s ear as he jerks him off with quick, hard strokes, Sam’s pretty sure it will be over very soon. He loosens his grip on Steve’s shoulders and slides his hands down the man’s back. The muscles are taut against his skin and Sam spends a couple of seconds exploring, running his hands up and down Steve’s back as Steve whimpers. Then, he slips his right hand down Steve’s pants at the same time as he gently bites on Steve’s earlobe and there. The resounding moan Steve lets out will forever be saved in his memory, a nice souvenir for those nights Steve is out on a mission and leaves Sam’s ass behind.

“Sam,” Steve pleads, his voice rough and breathless and well, it’s not like Sam can ignore the quiet _please_ that follows, can he?

“Yeah?” he asks, his other hand cupping the front of Steve’s pants. “This what you want, yeah?”

When Sam finally gets his hand on Steve’s dick, they both let out an obscene moan and Sam laughs breathlessly against Steve’s lips. “Good, yeah?”

Steve groans in return, his mouth immediately on Sam’s again. It’s not even a battle, more a dance, and he never thought he’d describe Steve Rogers as _soft_ , especially not when the man’s got his hand on Sam’s dick, but it’s just… soft. It’s hurried and hot and Sam’s wrist is starting to ache with how it’s pressed in an uncomfortable position against Steve’s zipper, but Steve’s got his hand against Sam’s face and his thumb stroking patterns over his cheek, under his eyes, over his ears, and his gaze stares right into Sam’s soul.

It’s a good thing no one else can hear his thoughts, because goddamn it, no one had told him that getting a handy against a wall would involve this many feelings.

“Sam, I’m—” Steve interrupts his thoughts and Sam squeezes his hand a little bit tighter, presses himself a little bit closer to the other man. It’s almost uncomfortable, with their arms bumping into each other and Sam’s elbow hitting the wall every other stroke, but it’s so good and Sam can feel the tingling starting at the bottom of his spine.

“Yeah, me too, c’mon,” Sam pants against Steve’s mouth and it only takes one, two, three more strokes before Steve spurts over his hand, his groan vibrating through the living room. His hand squeezes uncomfortably around Sam’s dick and it staves off his own reaction, but watching Steve makes more than up for it. The veins in his neck, his hair flopping into his face, that flush to his cheeks, neck, chest, is hotter than it has any right to be. It takes a couple of beats before Steve gets his breath back, but then his hand starts working him over again and Sam’s brain just… blanks.

It takes an embarrassingly short time of Steve whispering low-key filth in his ear before the tingling is back and he can barely grunt out a warning before he comes all over Steve’s fist, shivering through the aftershock, his muscles going slack. He lets his head thump against the wall, taking deep breaths to get his heartbeat back under control and as to not end up in a puddle on the floor.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware that his hand is gross and sticky and cramping in an awful way, so he gently releases Steve and cringes at the sensation of cold come on his fingers.

“Hey, guess what?” Steve asks, wiping his hand on Sam’s stomach and ugh, gross. Sam pushes his hand away, but not before letting the palm of his hand trail across Steve’s abs.

“What?”

“Now we match again,” Steve grins, slapping his hand against Sam’s stomach a couple of times. It takes Sam a second, but then he pushes at Steve’s chest with both hands. Steve cackles and grabs his wrist, tugging Sam upright until they’re chest to chest, his chin resting on top of Sam’s head because damn this man and his couple extra inches.

“You’re a disgusting man, Rogers,” Sam mumbles against the blonde’s chest and he can feel the vibrations as Steve laughs.

“Your disgusting man, though, right?”

Sam sighs, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and giving a little squeeze. “God knows why, but yes, my disgusting man.”

“If you’re not sure, I could always ask Tony—”

Steve’s cackle follows him as Sam flips him off on the way to the shower.


End file.
